Swimming? Not today...

They hadn’t touched in weeks. The moment Samantha stepped into the suite in that tiny black bikini, Matt stopped thinking about anything but skin. The pool lights glowed blue across the water, but neither of them reached the edge. She dropped to her knees on the cool tile, pulling his trunks down in one practiced tug. Her tongue curled around him, slow and wet, before she took him deep, eyes locked on his. He groaned, fingers sliding into her dark hair, hips easing forward as she worked him with lazy skill. When he pulled her up, he spun her around and pressed her forward over the lounge chair. The thong bottoms came down just enough. He spread her open, spit on his fingers, and eased two inside her tight rim, stretching her open while she pushed back against him. She was dripping down her thighs by the time he slid his cock into her ass—slow at first, then harder, the slap of skin echoing off the tiled walls. He fucked her until her legs shook. Then he pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and painted her flushed face with thick ropes, watching it drip across her lips and cheek.